Title: The Unexpected
Summary: What if Bella was the youngest daughter of Galadriel, one who thought was lost but in hiding. What if Gandalf asks for her aid in Thorin’s quest.
Author Note: WHY HAS THIS CONSUMED ME SO?
BTW I should mention Italics are the elves speaking in their native tongue Sindarin. Bold Italics is when they are speaking in Khuzdul. All words translated at the bottom.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the twilight series and I really don’t own any of Tolkien’s amazing work.
To Bella it felt like an age had passed, to the elves that carried her it was mere moments they just placed the lady down before she awoke with a scream. The sounds of war erupted around them and they dared not move as the elf rose from the bed.
Bella breathed harshly, shaking her head as she tried to regain her senses. She could still hear her sisters’ voice in her mind and see the images of death flash before her. But soon, soon she came to realise that the screams were from around her, not from her visions.
“Where am I?” She asked gruff, her voice sounding much like thunder that it caused the two guards to shudder.
“Hîr nín Thranduil ordered us to bring you to his tent when you fell. You were surely dead híril nín, for your heart stopped beating.” One of the guards replied, Bella frowned and looked upon him with a critical eye and nodded.
“What happened? Who is at war?” She asked standing, rolling back her shoulders. It was then she realised that she had no bow, for she did not grab one since hers broke and she had no daggers. All she had was her sword; she had lost near all her prized weapons on this journey.
“Orchoth, they had just begun to attack. We were told to keep you safe at all costs but so far the attacks are on the other side of Dale.” The other guardsman replied, stepping back at the dark look upon the Lady’s face.
“I need weapons immediately; did the king bring more than his sword and armour?” She asked before noting the chest in one of the corners of the tent, one she would recognise anywhere as it was a wedding gift from her littered with weapons. Oh the convenience.
The guards spluttered as they watched her march towards the box and opened it with practised ease; they both questioned who she was for the king to care about her health above all, who could wrench that scream from his lips that they as a company heard only once when their queen had been attacked. Even now as the Lady before them donned herself with all the weapons she could carry bar a bow.
“I am Lady Canadriel, Daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel of Lothlórien. Will you fight for the lives of Man, Elf and Dwarrow? Will you fight with me?” She asked seriously her face set in the mask of stone.
The elven warriors startled at her name and title, they knew who she was immediately. “We will fight with you híril nín!”
Bella nodded drawing out her sword while grasping the other she had acquired by Thranduil’s chest in another.
No one could or ever would describe the sight of Lady Canadriel, the fourth daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn… Moriel the Daughter of Night came from the falling snow with such ferocity and grace, there were no words that could describe the elven princess in her mismatch battle attire, shining like a star in the night. But all that did see it, all that could remember it of those who will survive, would never forget.
Bella was a force to be reckoned with, blades glinting in the light as she sliced through rotting flesh and spraying out black blood in her wake.
“My children! Where are my children?” Bard yelled desperately to the fleeing citizens.
“I saw them. They were down in the old market.” A voice called out, one that brought him relief and dred.
Bard frowned and stumbled forward in panic. “The market?! Where are they now? Tilda! Sigrid!”
Percy ran towards Bard ahead of the other soldiers that were left. “Bard, Orcs are storming over the causeway!”
“Get the bowmen to the eastern parapet. Hold them off for as long as you can!” He ordered Percy, half dazed and panicked as he searched for his children once more.
“The orcs have taken Stone Street! The market’s overrun!”
Bard watched the man flee with a limp, fear gripping his heart. “The rest of you, follow me!”
Sigrid and Tilda screamed as they ran from the beast. Bain rushed forward to his sister’s aid and stabs the orc before another knocked him down. Fear rose in his eyes as the orc stood above him, sword raised, he could do little more than cringe away and expect the killing blow.
“Rise young Bain.” The voice caused his eyes to snap open and he couldn’t help but stare as Lady Bella stood above him, her raven hair she seemed to shine like silver in the sun.
Bain blinked and rose to his feet, giving her stammered thanks before stumbling to his sisters. His eyes shoot up at the sound of fighting to see their father at the top, unknowing they were here.
“DA!” Sigrid yelled fearfully.
Tilda clutched her sister’s hand. “Da! We’re down here!”
Bard heard the call of his children and looked down the stairway to see them unharmed, behind them fighting was what shocked and horrified him. Lady Canadriel who he had thought gone fought against the oncoming orcs that dared to try for his children and a troll.
At the sound of a terrible cry the children turn and scream as they see Lady Bella get smashed back into the wall by its mace. Bard quickly shoved the cart upwards and then down the stairs, a groan of pain escaping his lips as it jumped and slammed him harshly into the ground.
“BAIN, SIGRID! GET DOWN!” He yelled as he hurtled closer to them, sailed over their bodies and crashed into a rock and troll, sending them backwards and giving him enough motion forward to bury the blade into the beast.
Bella shook her head and cursed at the beast, giving Bard her nod of thanks as he helped her to her feet. They had no time to talk as Bard rushed them all towards a safer part of the town.
“Listen, I need you to gather the women and children. Take them to the Great Hall and barricade the door.” He explained quickly to his children while gently taking the sword from Bain’s hand. “You understand? You must not come out for any reason!”
“We wanna stay with you!” Tilda cried out to her father.
“Show your father some respect! You leave it to me, sire. You heard him, we make to the Great Hall!” Alfrid spat out, giving the elf a wide birth and grabbing the children with a rough hand before crying out as he felt a tight grip on his arm.
Bard and all stared at the elf who glared down at the snivelling weasel. “If I find out you abandoned those children Weasel then there is no place on this earth including death where you can hide from my wrath. Do you understand me?” She gritted out calmly, but it caused Alfrid to nearly piss himself in fear.
“I-I u-understand! I’ll get them to safety, sire.” He stammered out, directing his gaze to Bard. “And my sword is yours to command.”
“Bard, I am needed elsewhere, are you fine on your own?” Bella asked seriously.
“I am fine, go, when this is over we will talk then!” He yelled over his shoulder as he rushed away.
Dwalin stood with tears in his eyes as he stared at his heart-brother. One that Dwalin didn’t know if he wished to call him so anymore, for he grieved deeply. He could not blame Thorin for falling under the curse of Durin’s line completely, for being the reason that… no.
“Since when do we forsake our own people? Thorin, they are dying out there.” He tried to reason, the sound of battle echoing softly in the hall. It was not in his nature to sit back and watch his kin fight and stand aside to do nothing. He also knew that in his grief-filled rage, he would fall if he desired it.
Images of man, elf and Dwarrow invaded his mind with orcs, trying to steal his gold from old mines. “There are halls beneath halls within this mountain… places we can fortify.”
“Shore up, make safe. Yes…” He murmured out. “…yes, that is it. We must move the gold further underground, to safety!” It was a brilliant plan, yes, yes; he must keep the gold safe. Keep it all safe from thieves; it was his gold… mighty gold. Yes, he must do that now!
“Did you not hear me?! Dain is surrounded! They’re being slaughtered, Thorin. Losing-Losing one kin today was enough; do you want to lose another?” Dwalin asked his voice cracking as he took two steps towards the fleeing king.
Thorin cast a glance at the dwarf before him, his face bland. “Many die in war. Life is cheap. But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend!” He finished with a rough bark.
The look on Dwalin’s face was of deep sadness. “You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head, and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.”
“Do not speak to me as if I was some lowly dwarf lord…” Thorin choked out, turning away as he grasped his head. Voices of his own and others echoed loudly before blessed glow of gold. “As-As if I were still…Thorin…Oakenshield.”
“I AM YOUR KING!” He roared, swinging up the sword he cannot recall grasping, nearly toppling over with the movement. His mind took in the fact that Dwalin moved closer to him swinging the blade than away, but couldn’t find a reason to care.
He is your king…
Dwalin bowed his head in sorrow. “You were always my king. You used to know that once. You cannot see that you have become.”
“Go! Get out…before I kill you.” Thorin choked out, his vision blurred as his eyes stung.
Dwalin choked, trying to get out the words before sighing in defeat. “… You already have.”
Thorin did not know how he got here, one second he was in the throne room and now he stood upon the golden floor. The gleam bright and oh so marvellous, it whispered its soft tune in his ear like a mothers loving whisper.
“You sit here…with a crown upon your head…you are lesser now than you have ever been…”
“…but a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost…”
“…a sickness lies upon that treasure…”
“…the blind ambition of a mountain-king…”
“…AM I NOT THE KING…”
“…who are you Thorin son of Thráin, son of Thrór?”
“…this gold…is ours…and ours alone…”
“…I will not part with a single coin…”
“…he could not see beyond his own desire…”
“…I do not see Thorin Oakenshield, I see Thrór son of Dáin I…”
“…as if I was some lowly dwarf lord…”
“…a sickness that drove your grandfather mad…”
“…this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror…”
“…I am not my grandfather…my grandfather.”
“…you are the heir to the throne of Durin…”
“…they are dying out there.”
“…take back…take Erebor…”
“…Dain is surrounded… surrounded…is surrounded…Dain is surrounded…”
“…take back your homeland…”
“…you are changed, Thorin…”
“…I am not my grandfather…”
“…is this treasure truly worth more than your honour…”
“…I am not my grandfather…”
“What did you do? UNCLE WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The impact of his body hitting the gold as the voices swarmed in his head echoed the great hall, even over the noise as he watched… He watched as he saw the snake swirl under him with a hungry purpose, he watched as the gold dipped like its heated state.
“…this treasure will be your death…”
He watched himself as he screamed as the gold swallowed him whole, the silence ringing loudly in his ears as clarity returned once more. The crown clanged loudly as he threw it viciously from his head, he was not his grandfather.
“…who are you Thorin son of Thráin, son of Thrór?” Moriel’s voice echoed a flash of harsh hard lines and black eyes surrounded by inky black.
“I am Thorin Oakenshield, I am not my grandfather.” He choked out as he looked down upon his armoured hands in shame in horror as he heard his nephews screams, of his kins screams as he let Bilbo go.
With hurried hands he ripped the royal robes and armour away disgusted, he had killed… he had killed their burglar, an innocent. Thorin could not remember much over the haze of gold, but he remembered dropping Bilbo and a roar that sent shivers down his spine that he could not place.
The company sat just inside the gate of Erebor, their armour stripped and laying haphazardly on the stone piles around them. Each one in a state of distress as they listened to their kin being slaughtered around them all the while they sat safely behind the stone barricade.
At the sound of footsteps they cast a look towards the door, a figure walking out from the orange glow. Kili stood furiously, his heart beating in his chest, a war drum for the screams around him as he watched his Uncle – King Thorin – walk towards them.
“I will not hide behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us!” Kili screamed at him as he marched forward. “It is not in my blood, Thorin.”
They stop in front of one another, Thorin taking in the age that seemed to latch itself onto his sisters-son. Grief and bitterness causing his once youthful care-free self, which made him wholly Kili, slump as if a great weight now rested on his shoulders. It was a twist to the knife of guilt that rested in his chest.
“No, it is not. We are sons of Durin. And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.” Thorin whispered reassuringly to his sister-son, resting a hand upon his neck. Kili smiled through his tears, his lip quivered as he tried to hold back the sob that threatened to break free.
Thorin closed his eyes for a brief second as the image of Kili seared its way into his memory before resting his forehead upon his nephews and then facing the others. He scanned the room, eyes locking on each and every Dwarrow that stood before him and for a second he wondered where Moriel was. Surely she would have stayed with them, but he had not seen her since…
With a shake of his head he bowed his head. “I have no right to ask this of any of you; but will you follow me one last time?”
Bella fought with such ferocity as she span in and out of the orcs, leaving dead bodies in her wake as she made her way across Dale. Deldhinenon and Acharthor as she had named them never left her side; they fought in tandem with one another, even when she ducked out of the way of their king they followed.
She could hear the horn of the enemy upon Ravenhill and that was her goal, she needed to reach that mountain top and destroy the war markers so they’re army will flounder. Though she did come to a stop as a familiar war horn she had not heard in a while caught her ears, her body slamming into the wall as she looked out towards Erebor.
“They are rallying to their king…” she hissed before glanced a look up on the cliff, while images of her kins death flashed across her mind.
“Deldhínenon.” She addressed, watching as the elf’s eyes widened a fraction. “I need you to go and help those you can, make no mention of me.”
The elf in question, his silver eyes glinting as he bowed and made his way back towards the battlefield, his blonde hair glinting in the light. Bella turned to look at the redheaded elf, his bow grasped tightly in his hand.
“Acharthôr, you protect the women, wounded and children. When this is all done, you, Deldhínenon and I will be having a chat. If, if you see Prince Legolas, tell him I will be up there. Go, I am needed elsewhere, stay safe.” She ordered fondly, gesturing to the looming peak before winking and dashing off through dale once more, now to find a bloody way up the mountain.
Seeing the war Legolas and Tauriel pushed their horses faster, Lorelei making sure that no orc could attack from behind or from the side as she sat behind her sister.
“Gandalf!” Legolas called over the sounds of battle and death to the wizard.
Hearing his name, Gandalf spun and stared at the blonde prince in relief and awe. “Legolas… Legolas Greenleaf!”
He didn’t allow Gandalf to utter a word more as he came to a stop in front of him. “There is a second army! Bolg leads a force of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us!”
Tauriel and Lorelei stayed by their prince’s side, their bows up and ready for any attack. Though, Lorelei tried desperately to see over the battlefield for a sign of her Chosen amongst the warriors fighting.
“Gundabad…This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces, then Bolg seeps in from the north.” The wizard spat out disgruntled.
“Wha…the north…where is the north, exactly?!” Bilbo demanded, the words coming out in a shocked stammer.
Gandalf turned and faced the peak with dread. “Ravenhill.”
“Ravenhill…Thorin is up there! And Fili and Kili, they’re all up there!” Bilbo shouted in fear, horror.
Lorelei whipped her head around and stared up at the peak in horror before casting a glance to her prince.
“Where is Canadriel?” Legolas asked; dread filling him as he watched the wizard stiffen and the hobbit flinch. “Where is she? I was told by Bard she was with the King on her way here and I have not seen her amongst our kin or the Dwarrow’s.”
Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a few times before looking away from the prince; he didn’t know what to say. With a frown he swallowed his fear and guilt before looking back up at the prince. “Sh-She fell from the ramparts to save me. We went to your father’s tents where he ordered two of his guard to take and watch over her but… but they were not there. We don’t know if they made it back in time before the… the… attack.”
The sound that escaped from Legolas’s lips echoed across the battlefield, a sound that would later be described by Man as a grieving widow’s cry, by elves as the Grief Cry and by Dwarrow who had heard… they dared not utter or describe the sound but they all would describe it as a the Oath of Vengeance and Loss. For many Dwarrow knew what it was like to lose their one or loved ones.
Author Note: Seriously, next chapter will be okie dokie.
híril nín – My Lady
Hîr nín – My Lord
Acharthôr – (acharn+tôr) Name meaning Vengeance Brother
Deldhínenon – (del+dínen+-on) Name meaning Silent Horror
Orchoth – Orcs